Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Raphael is next. Then Michele. Stefano is exempted, seeing that he can only ingest liquids through a pipe in his throat.
Dante looks at me from under his lashes as he lifts the glass to his mouth, wetting his lips without drinking.
While the men congratulate Raphael on his upcoming conquest, I dump my drink in the vase on the side table next to me.
I not only refuse to drink to a vulgar tradition and a man I don’t respect, but I also want to keep my wits about me when Anya is with me in the lion’s den. Let’s face it, half of the guests are from Morelli’s side, and I trust a Morelli just as far as I can throw him. The drink I had at the bar is more than enough. Besides, I’m driving.
Stefano gurgles, pointing a shaky finger at me.
“What’s that?” Luigi asks with annoyance he doesn’t try to mask.
Stefano turns his crooked digit toward the vase, his eyes bulging in his head.
“That’s the urn with his wife’s ashes,” Luigi says to no one in particular. “Yes, Stefano.” He gives his brother a patronizing pat on the shoulder. “We know.”
Stefano goes red in the face, but Luigi is already ignoring him to shake Michele’s hand.
A nurse in scrubs enters. She goes to Stefano and wheels him out of the room.
Someone must’ve pressed the button to alert her that her patient needed her.
Dante makes big eyes at me.
Feeling Raphael’s gaze on my face, I turn my head in his direction. He studies me quietly while I measure him right back.
My smartwatch buzzes with an incoming message.
I break our eye contact to check the screen. It’s one of the men I stationed outside.
I go rigid in a second flat.
I read the message before I’ve even stepped to the side.
Rachele is talking to Anya. It’s not looking good.
Fuck.
Giorgio watches me, no doubt reading my expression. He gets to his feet, but I don’t give him time to ask what’s wrong.
“Excuse me,” I say, inclining my head toward Luigi. “I have a matter that needs my attention.”
Dante raises a brow, quietly asking if I need help with kicking someone’s ass.
I give a single shake of my head as I go to the door.
Pushing people out of my way, I stride briskly to the garden.
My man waits at the sliding doors.
“Where is she?” I ask, my voice tight.
He nods in the direction of the bar. “Where you left her.”
I turn my head in that direction and easily spot Anya’s fiery red hair in the crowd. And I don’t like what I see. Not one fucking bit.
Rachele has taken up a challenging pose in front of Anya. She says something, and by the bitchy expression on her face, I can just imagine what that is. Anya stares at her, aghast, her pretty peach-colored cheeks turning ashen.
Fucking Rachele.
I make it to them in a few long strides, just in time to hear Rachele say…
CHAPTER
THREE
Anya
His wife.
The words punch me straight in the gut, stealing my ability to breathe.
“Ex-wife,” Saverio says with palpable anger from somewhere on my left.
Too shocked to speak, I look in the direction from where his voice comes. He’s walking toward us with quick, angry steps, reaching me in two long strides.
“I apologize, Anya.” He turns a frosty gaze on the woman in front of me. “Excuse us for a moment. I need a word with Rachele.”
Gripping her arm, he drags her toward the sliding doors that give access to the lounge. She almost trips before righting herself.
I stare after them with a cocktail of unpleasant sensations churning in my gut. Unwelcome and unexpected jealousy is like ice in my veins while betrayal burns like hot coals in my stomach.
Why didn’t Saverio tell me?
He could’ve at least warned me that his ex-wife would be here. I didn’t even know he was married, for crying out loud. It never crossed my mind. Why, I don’t know. He has a healthy sex appetite. He’s a normal, virile man. In his circles, he must be quite a catch.
Stupid, stupid, girl.
Trust me not to consider such an obvious possibility.
People shoot curious glances at me, but they don’t dare to look at Saverio. Once he’s pushed Rachele inside the house, the guests who’ve gone quiet around me resume their conversations.
I leave my glass on the table. I’m about to slip away to find a quiet spot somewhere when someone says to my back, “Don’t mind my sister.”
My spine goes rigid.
I recognize that voice.
My fingers tighten involuntarily on the clutch bag in my hand as I swing around.
Giorgio leans on a terrace pillar, his hands shoved in his pockets. He wears a tux with long coattails and a bowtie. “She just got used to having Sav at her beck and call.”
An uninvited shiver rolls through me. I glance over his shoulder to where the guards are positioned, only marginally reassured that they’re in place.